


Foolish Heart

by samantha8170



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Jack Marston was never born, Kinda?, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn, javier and john if you squint, micah gets what he deserves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:52:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samantha8170/pseuds/samantha8170
Summary: Arthur Morgan has been riding with Dutch Van Der Linde and his gang for a while. Dutch and Hosea took Arthur under their wing years before, slowly becoming fathers to the young man. But with those years their small gang of three slowly grew to a group of ten or twelve; Dutch's gang finally becoming the small community he's always wanted. But the day the raven-haired man stepped foot into camp, was the day Arthur knew changes were to come.





	1. The Man with The Raven Hair

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever AO3 fic, and honestly, haven't written a fic in years so please bEAR WITH ME :') Also i have very little understanding of the tags so they will probably change lol
> 
> I feel like this chapter isn't the greatest. Any spelling or grammar errors just comment and I'll correct. I want this to be a slow burn kind of thing but who knows maybe I'll get desperate for some CHARTHUR ACTION and end up just making them love each other sooner than I expected.
> 
> ALSO: please note the whole 'Micah gets what he deserves" thing comes probably around chapter 3-4, and trust me, that's when we'll start to diverge from the canon story. But for now, Enjoy!! <33

The rain pelleted harsh and unforgivingly onto his cheeks, mixing with the stream of salty tears which pooled in his eyes. The world had continued on, without a glimpse of shame, as he slowly felt like it was coming to an end. The feel of rough leather beneath his fingers was the reminder he was now orphaned. A string of rope which frayed at the ends --a piss poor excuse for a hatband-- tying the only memories he had left of his family. 

 

Arthur’s mother was gone a long while before the day of the gallows. Poor Beatrice Morgan losing her battle to some unforgiving illness which remained unknown to him. He was left with who he called ‘Liquor Lyle’, a father whose love for his son was as bitter as his whisky. ‘Love’ was a questionable term to name the relationship between the Morgan boys, but the day Arthur watched his dad with the noose hung tight around his neck, the only emotion besides regret that shun in his father’s pleading eyes must have been love. Love towards his lone boy.

 

His thumb skimmed the brim of his father’s hat, the dazed image of the body hanging from the gallows peaking from behind the worn leather. With shaky hands, the hat became his. The worn brown leather now bouncing the rain away from the twelve-year old’s head.  _ A new beginnin’.  _ Young Arthur thought.  _ And God protect me if it’s the last damn thing you do. _

 

That he did. Although God was an indescribable image to young Arthur, he was protected by someone; Someone had his back. That protection felt as to run thin, as a lanky hand covered in fine jewellery gripped Arthur painfully, but little did he know it was the beginning of something- decent. Something loving. Love and protection Liquor Lyle never gave him, yet God gave it to him in the form of a stranger.

 

“Quite the silent hand for such a wild looking boy.” The man snickered, his knuckles white around the curve of Arthur’s wrist. Arthur squirmed, fear pulsing through his veins.  _ Run-  _ He thought.  _ Kick the fool and run- _

 

“You won’t see me again.” Arthur blurted, arm yanking against the force of the man. “Let me go n’ I’ll be gone, sir.”

 

The pause was long and Arthur dreaded every second before the man stifled a chuckle and dropped his wrist. Arthur soothed the ache of a forming bruise as the man spoke up once more,

 

“Silent, but could use some work. The name is Dutch Van Der Linde. You are?”

 

“Arthur, “ he replied, eyes hiding beneath the overly big brim of his hat, “Arthur Morgan.”

  
\---

 

Years passed and the Van Der Linde gang had grown from a simple family of two dads and their loose-cannon of a son to something stronger. From three grew four, which slowly blossomed to a group of ten or twelve and maybe even more. Instead of waking to a tent and a simple fire, Arthur woke to an arrange of colours of tent canvases, fire pits among bench tables and supply wagons. They grew their own town within a couple of kilometres of a forgotten land, busting with livelihood only the moon and its stars could see. 

 

John Marston and Susan Grimshaw were seniority names to the Van Der Linde gang, having been around since the gang first started after Arthur had joined. But Dutch made no small name for himself when it came to recruitment. In the lawless county of the west, it wasn’t any competition to find some juvenile or delinquent. At some points, it had become a game, or sport between the fathers of the gang. Hosea and Dutch battling over an imaginary score only the two of them truly counted. The rest of the gang rolled an eye at the childish antics, only paying attention to this game when it came to teaching a newcomer the ropes.  

 

When a calm morning after a light overnight rain rolled through, at first Arthur didn’t raise an eye from his journal when Dutch strolled into a camp with a man at his side. They disappeared into Dutch’s tent before Arthur could take in the stranger’s details. He caught a glimpse of shoulder-length hair, raven black and cascading down his shoulders. The mysterious man held himself with pride, his shoulders held back and his chest puffed out. 

 

Arthur hadn’t heard the man speak a word, but considering how much nonsense Dutch spewed, he wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t long before Dutch’s voice rang through camp and Arthur was up on his feet, following the call of his name. He was greeted by Dutch, who was seated on his cot with Molly who knitted by his side. Hosea leaned against a wooden beam which kept Dutch’s tent up, a faint smile spreading on his lips from a joke Dutch probably cracked. Inside the tent stood the new recruit. 

 

Arthur got a better look at the man, standing now only a few feet from him. He was a man of colour, his complexion dark but the beaded necklace and feather in his hair hinted at a different background. His hair was long and parts of it braided out of the way of his face.  _ The girls will love a man who can braid _ , Arthur thought.

 

His eyes were a stern chocolate brown, eyebrows furrowed and his features were cold. He didn’t seem like a very friendly person, someone who is very closed off and would rather keep to himself, but at the end of the day can Arthur really judge? He’s killed many men, the list inking more names each day. It’d be ridiculous for a no good killer like himself to judge a man based on his want of solitude. 

 

Arthur’s eyes flicked to meet his gaze and he was met with a distant look. Something cold was found within the man’s oak irises, a feeling of uncertainty and the faint want to leave. Arthur couldn’t help but pity the man. From the spiderweb scar that sprouted from his jaw and bloomed up into his cheek, Arthur knew the man hid secrets in the back of his mind which led him to survive on his own. 

 

He had no right smiling softly at the man before him, a pitiful but hopeful gesture in the eyes of most. Arthur wasn’t looking to feel bad for the man and he sure as hell wasn’t looking for pity; But Arthur pushed his hand out to meet him in a firm shake.

 

“Arthur Morgan.” 

 

“Charles Smith,” He replied. Arthur swore he saw the brown eyes of the man before him soften, but he was quick to drop their gaze and return to the familiar presence of Hosea.


	2. Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been weeks since Charles has joined the gang, and Arthur still isn't sure how he feels about the new member. So, Dutch sends the two men on a job in a small town named Serenity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! School's been super busy and still is, so I'm not sure when I'll have the time to write chapter three. I feel like my writing this chapter isn't too great, so I'm sorry guys! I hope y'all enjoy <3
> 
> Also warning: use of racial slurs in this chapter

A couple of weeks had passed since Charles Smith was officially one of the Van Der Linde boys, and Arthur didn’t know exactly _how_ he felt about that. Arthur was Dutch's side gun, his attack dog, his first son- and that status was never once threatened with the arrival of Charles. But Charles easily beat Arthur's ominous front, the man being nothing but mysterious. He stuck to the scout campfires by the edge of the camp, either making arrows or oiling his guns. Never once was a word spoken from the man, never a conversation started by him either. To Arthur, it seemed all he possessed was a wide range of grunts, never a single word in the English vocabulary used besides ‘No thank you’, and his name.

 

Arthur tried the first week to make small talk, but it was a recipe for disaster; Charles’ lack of talking and Arthur’s lack of social ease mixing together. All he would get from the raven-haired man was a mumbled ‘Hello’ and a few grunts of acknowledgement before Arthur gave up time and time again.

 

Charles was distant in every possible way, and it made Arthur uneasy. If he’s truly staying with the gang, why wouldn’t he try to get to know the people he’s living with? Did the man have a personal agenda of his own?

 

So when the day came that Dutch announced to Arthur he’d be making an overnight trip into town with the one and only Charles Smith, you could only _imagine_ the excitement on Arthur’s face.

 

“I don’ know Dutch.” Arthur started, running his hand over his face.

 

“Are you questioning my decisions, son?”

 

“Never, Arthur started, hurt written across his face, I’m just questionin’ Mr. Smith.”

 

Dutch chuckled to himself, pulling the cigar from his lips before blowing the smoke into the afternoon air. “I believe Mr. Smith here, has proven his capabilities within the last couple of weeks- Arthur.”

 

“He’s built like a damn bear, I’m aware. But he’s sure acting strange for a man who’s suppose to be stayin’ with this group. He don’t say nothin’ to nobody.” Arthur fidgeted with the leather of his holster, breathing in the tension that laid thickly between Dutch and himself.

 

Dutch sighed to himself before clasping a firm hand on Arthur’s shoulder. His eyes stern and leaving no room for questioning in Arthur’s mind.

 

“Mr. Smith has only been around for a week or two Arthur, you have to have a little bit of patience with a man who’s been running on his own for most of his sorry life.” Dutch smiled, patting Arthur’s shoulder before leaving, not letting the man get a single complaint in.

Arthur huffed and set off in a pout, murmuring complaints under his breath as he made his way towards Charles. He was once again sat at a scout campfire, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he carved a piece of wood with his knife.

 

“I think this is the only time I haven’t seen you making them arrows for your bow.” Arthur started, his eyes searching his satchel as he pulled out his box of cigarettes. Charles only huffed in response, offering Arthur a match.

 

“Oh- uh, no thank you,” Arthur replied, smiling at the gesture but striking a match of his own against the sole of his boot. Charles lit his own cigarette before dropping the match into the dirt, putting it out with the heel of his shoe.

 

“So, Dutch wants you and myself to head into town, scope out the place for leads n’ what not.”

 

“I thought Javier and some of the other men already did that.” Charles murmured, his mind focused on his task at hand.

 

“Leads pop up all the time, we should find somethin’. Anyway, it’s boss’ orders, so be ready to head out near sun fall. Bring a bedroll just in case.”

 

“Sure, Arthur,” Charles replied, deadpan and uninterested.

 

Arthur noticed Charles was able to remember his name, even with a lack of communication from the two. Javier was brought up by Charles as well, being a slight surprise. Arthur knew Javier was a social butterfly (even though calling him that aloud would result in a swingin’ of his knife) but he always assumed the revolutionist was too much for a quiet man like Mr. Smith.

 

 _Maybe I should get Javi to teach me the guitar- so I can serenade Mr. Smith into actually talking for once._ Arthur chuckled dryly at the thought, annoying yet entertaining nonetheless.

 

\---

 

By the time the sun hid beneath the mountains of New Austin, Arthur was surprised to find Charles by his horse- _Taima, was it?_ The man had his hair tied back into a bun with his feather still hanging down the side of his face. For the first time, Charles appeared at peace. His mouth curved slightly at the ends as he fed Taima a sugar cube, the horse grunting in response as her tail swung from side to side happily. Charles huffed a laugh before murmuring a quiet “Greedy” to his horse, patting her neck and mane.

 

“You ready to go?” Arthur interrupted, his eyes glued to this soft side of Charles he’s never seen before. But he watched Charles put his guard back up, replacing the small smile of his with a frown as his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Arthur was quick to dismiss this as he mounted Boadicea, the two men leaving with a quick pace as they made their way into town.

 

The town of Serenity was a small, lawless mining town. The mines were a day horseback away, the town usually a very quiet place with most of the men out working. It had its necessities, doctor’s office, general store, saloon, but that was all the town really was. Asides from the few stores in town, the rest of the buildings within the area were houses. Modernity hadn’t made its way to this small town, outlaws and degenerates completely taking over the place when bounty hunters weren’t in town. It was a place of calmness, yet the outlaws and working girls who gathered gave it a feral twinge.

 

Charles hopped off of Taima and hitched her to the post outside of the saloon, Arthur following suit. The two headed off into the saloon, their walls building up into the rough and tough exterior.

 

The sun’s light was still glowing in the sky, not quite night time just yet- but that didn’t stop the townsfolk of Serenity. The saloon was packed and busting with life, working girls hanging off of drunken men, the pianist filling the air with busty tunes. It reeked of alcohol and throw up, but the uplifting atmosphere drew the men in like moths to a light.

 

“Remember, try not to get in any trouble.” Arthur stopped by the entrance of the saloon, Charles nodding in acknowledgement before heading off towards some girls by the bar.

 

The boys never sought out trouble, but they are one hell of a magnet when it comes to it.

 

It had only been an hour since Charles and Arthur set foot into the bar, and all seemed to have been going smoothly. Arthur joined a game of poker with some men who were a bit too tipsy to truly comprehend the money they were wasting. Charles had been spending his time with a small group of one or two working girls; a blond, curvy woman now hanging off his hip. Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, _at least one of ‘em are getting something tonight._

 

This peacefulness didn’t last long. A man a bit shorter than Charles, wearing a tight suit that bent at his beer belly, approached Charles and the blond woman by his side. With a beer bottle at the man’s side, it was clear he had too much to drink- hours ago.

 

“Sherry! My girl! What are you doing.” The man slurred, tumbling over his own feet and catching his balance on the bartop.

 

Charles gave the man a look, a cocktail of annoyance and threat, trying to scare the drunkard away. It was clear he wasn’t wanted here by either Charles or the woman of the night beside him, her red lips falling into a frown and her eyes rolling.

 

“Henry- please. Sleep off your booze before you doing anything stupid.” She snapped back, wrapping her arms tighter around Charles’ waist. Her fingers trailed up his blue polka dot button up before hooking into the collar. Her eyes glowed a look of lust, pulling Charles down to her lips as she whispered something into his ear. Charles’ eyes were blown dark and lustful, smiling at whatever she was saying.

 

Arthur looked away before rubbing the back of his neck, the feeling of intruding seeping into his mind. His ears stayed perked, eavesdropping on the conversation of Charles and this drunkard called Henry in case a fight blew up.

 

“Get away from her, you piece of shit.” Henry slurred, his hands gripping to Charles’ shirt and ripping him away from the girl by his side. Charles tumbled into the table, his look shifting from lust straight to fight. Henry slowly becoming the prey of Charles’ hunting instincts.

 

“What even are you? You sure look like a shitty negro, but that dumb feather makes me think you got a little redskin in ya.” Henry slurred, waving his drink in the air as he tumbled towards the defensive man. Charles’ eyes glowed a red flame of rage, barely keeping himself confined. Arthur felt something cold running down his spine, his knuckles aching for the feel of flesh. Arthur excused himself from the poker table, shoving his chair to the side and stalking towards the drunkard.

 

“Your kind ain’t welcomed here. Serenity’s whores only bang the whites, there ain’t room for your dirt in our saloon." Henry was yelling now, the whole saloon going silent and listening to their fight. Some other drunk men cheered as Henry went on his racist rant, gathering around the two men in the middle of the bar.

 

Charles was fuming, his hands shaking in rage as he held himself back. With the gathering crowd of white and drunken men, he knew if he threw one punch- it wouldn’t end well for him.

 

“You can’t hurt me, negro. One hit and these people will have your body on display for the whole town to see!” He laughed, throwing his beer bottle to the ground. “What are you gonna do?”

 

With a quick swing, Henry was knocked out cold. There was a stomach-churning crunch of bone as a fist connected with the side of his face, near his ear. The man dropped to the floor, revealing Arthur who stood behind him. His right hand slowly turning red, light colours of blue and purple blooming along his knuckles. Charles glared at him, annoyance written across his face. Arthur knew Charles could handle himself, but the drunkard wasn’t worth the time or bullets for when it turned nasty. A small smirk slowly grew along Charles’ lips, his back straightening from his hunched stance to one of confidence.

 

Arthur clasped his hands together as he wiped off whatever dust gathered between his fingers. His face was cold and deathly, like staring a starving wolf dead-on. His brows were knitted in the middle in annoyance, his eyes radiating hatred as he gave each and every man in the room an icy glare. Some men backed away from the scene, hiding in the shadows of the dead saloon. Others stared the growling wolf right back, hands resting on their holsters.

 

“If anyone of y’all have a problem with my friend here, you go through me.” Arthur started, glancing at Charles who slowly made his way towards the saloon doors. “Next time, I won’t be so kind.” With that, the two men left the saloon in the dust. Hopping onto their horses and leaving Serenity in silence.

 

“I can handle myself, you know.” Charles started, amusement clear in his voice.

 

“I’m aware, but I would rather break my knuckles than risk you getting lynched.” Arthur huffed, glancing down at the purple which grew along his swollen hand. They had to of been broken, especially with how large they grew within minutes.

 

The silence returned as they trotted their way home. It was the first time the silence was comfortable- both men too exhausted to really say much. Arthur caught on to this comfortability, an understanding growing between the two men.

 

As the lanterns of camp came into view, Charles leaned over and stuck a hand into his satchel, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a match. He passed a cigarette to Arthur, before striking his match on the sole of his boot. Charles lit his cigarette before spurring Taima closer to Boadicea, reaching over to Arthur. Arthur leaned in, his cigarette hanging off his lips as Charles held the match out for the man. As his cigarette lit, Charles shook the match before dropping the burnt wood to the dusty floor.

 

Arthur gave the man a small smile, before spurring Boadicea off towards the hitching post by Dutch’s tent.


End file.
